


Another Closing Time

by Serenitys_Lady



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitys_Lady/pseuds/Serenitys_Lady
Summary: Donna Noble and the Doctor at three *very* different times





	1. Nine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, especially the Doctor – He just pops in for tea sometimes.
> 
> A/N: This was my first multi-chapter story (gasp!).

So gather up your jackets, move it to the exits. I hope you have found a friend.  
Closing time: Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.  
(“Closing Time” – Semisonic)

It didn’t look like much from the outside. Just a wooden door and a simple sign: a painted cherub, its hands folded in prayer, a hint of tears on its chubby cheeks. It didn’t get much custom, being on a back side street in a less than populous section of London. But the food was surprisingly good and the variety of spirits remarkable.

The Doctor approached the door, the collar of his leather jacket pulled up against the light rain that had begun to fall. It gave him a perverse pleasure to frequent an establishment that called itself “The Weeping Angel”. _If they only knew_ , he thought. _Better yet, I hope they **never** know._

He pushed open the door and walked inside. It was a small place, just five stools at the bar, a couple of booths, and a pool table. He had discovered it not soon after his regeneration on his first trip back to Earth. He’d been there enough times for the barman to know him on sight. Mostly, he came for the company, a few locals in for a pint or two before going home.

Tonight was different.

As he shook the rain off his jacket, he walked over to the bar. “Hey, Donny,” he said to the barman.

Donny turned, still wiping the glass in his hand. “Hiya, John,” he said cheerfully, a light Irish brogue lilting his speech. “Haven’t seen ya in a while.”

The Doctor draped his jacket over a nearby stool and said, “Been travelin’. Just got back into town.”

“Will ya be wantin’ your usual, then? We just got a delivery of fresh bananas this morning.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Glenfidditch 30. Three fingers,” he replied.

Donny whistled. “Bad day?” he asked, as he reached for the bottle and a glass. Setting them down on the bar in front of the Doctor, he poured a generous amount of the amber liquid.

“You could say that,” the Doctor replied. “Slainte.” He took a sip and leaned back against the bar. Donny had known “John Smith” long enough to know this was one of those times he didn’t want conversation, so he returned to his cleaning and restocking.

The Doctor stood there, gazing at nothing in particular. It had been a bad day. He had started out that morning heading for the Horsehead Nebula to take a sample of the hydrogen content of the cloud for the TARDIS’s databanks. 

She had a different idea.

Landing him instead in the centre of London, he discovered that a pair of Mustelaxians had infiltrated a children’s centre and were acting as advance scouts. These creatures looked remarkably like ferrets on Earth, and would entice small children away from their homes or groups, stealing them away. Until a certain age, the young of several mammalian species from a number of planets produce an enzyme that the Mustelaxi used to create psychotropic compounds that they marketed (illegally) throughout the galaxy. After reaching maturity, when the captives no longer produce the enzyme, they are sold to slavers.

The Doctor abhorred abuse of any kind, but abuse of children drove him to a special kind of rage. He caught up with the scouts before they could do much damage. He disabled the homing mechanism on their ship and re-sequenced their navigation system. Then he told them, in no uncertain terms, that Earth was off limits, and if they or any others of their kind were to ever return, they would have to contend with **him**. He also warned them that he would be reporting their activities to the Shadow Proclamation and, if they were smart, they would take themselves to a galaxy far, far away.

He sighed and took another sip of his drink. It was days like this that he was thankful that the stupid apes were oblivious to the dangers around them. It made his life a little easier. He could come in, make things right, and then get out without any complications. He preferred it that way. The less they knew, the easier it was to escape unnoticed.

He continued to stand at the bar, sipping and thinking. Suddenly, the door to the pub flew open and a woman fairly stumbled in. It was obvious from the sound of the wind and the amount of water that accompanied her that the earlier light rain had turned into a proper gale. 

The woman was drenched, her hair clinging to her face as rivulets ran down her neck and back. The Doctor quickly put down his drink and motioned to Donny to hand him a clean bar towel. Walking over to the woman, he handed it to her and said, “Here.”

She looked up at him, a glare on her face, which softened a bit when she realized what he was offering her. “Thanks,” she said, blotting her hair. He helped her out of her out of her sodden coat and draped it over the stool closest to the pub’s heater. 

“Can I get you somethin’? Coffee? Tea?” Donny had come over with another towel.

The woman glanced at the Doctor and replied, “I’ll have what _he’s_ having.”

Surprised, the Doctor said, “You don’t even know what I’m drinking.”

She smirked at him and said, “Well, Sunshine. You don’t look like the daiquiri type.” Looking him up and down, she continued, “Let’s see. Leather jacket. Boots. I’d say, oh, 25 year old single malt.”

The Doctor smiled at her, impressed. “30, actually. Donny,” he turned and said to the barman. “Two more here.” Returning to the woman, he put out his hand and said, “John Smith.”

She looked up at him and said, “Really? John Smith?”

“What? Would it make a difference if I said I spelled it with a ‘y’ and an ‘e’ ?” He grinned.

“It might,” she replied, smiling a bit. Taking his hand, she shook it and said, “Donna. Donna Noble.”

“So, Donna Noble,” the Doctor said. “What brings you to out on a night like this to an out-of-the-way place like this?” He handed her the glass of Scotch Donny had supplied.

She took a small sip and sighed. “To be honest, I got lost. I’d been at a job interview and was looking for the right Tube station. Then the rain started and I got turned around. It was raining harder and, well, I just thought this looked as good a place as any to get out of the wet.” She good another, longer, drink and said, “It’s just a bad end to a bad day in a bad week.”

The Doctor sipped his drink and asked, “Care to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“With those ears, you oughta be,” she retorted.

“Oi!” he snapped. “No need ta get snarky here! Just like a ginger, eh?”

“Oi, yourself!” she shot back. “Now who’s getting snarky?!”

They grinned at one another, both enjoying the banter. “So,” he began, “Didja get the job?”

Donna drank a little more and sighed deeply. “I don’t know why I expected things to be any different this time. It seems like, the last few months, it’s been one disaster after another.”

“How so?” he asked. She looked at him closely, trying to decide what exactly to tell him. “It can’t be _that_ bad,” he continued.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. I’ve been around a bit. Seen my share of trouble.”

To give herself a little more time to make up her mind, she walked over to the pool table and picked up a cue. Turning back, she asked, “Do you play?”

The Doctor smiled and said, “I’ve been known to.”

“Care for a game? From the sound of things outside, it looks like we’re gonna be stuck here a while.”

Downing the remainder of his drink, he walked over and took the cue Donna held in her outstretched hand. “Want another one?” he asked.

“Why not?” she replied, putting her empty glass on the bar. “So. What do you do, John Smith-with-a-y?”

The Doctor was intrigued by the fiery woman. Bringing over the re-filled glasses, he placed hers on the edge of the table. Taking a sip, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Troubleshooter.”

“Oh, that’s fairly vague. Meaning?” Donna asked.

“Well,” he replied slowly. “I travel about, checkin’ up on places. Spottin’ problems and helpin’ to get things back on track.”

“Sounds exciting, “ she said, as he racked up the pool balls.

“Can be. Sometimes too excitin’. Toss for the break?”

“Sure.” He pulled out a coin and flipped it in the air. Donna reached in suddenly and caught it, putting it on the back of her hand and covering it.

“Call it,” she said with a grin.

“Heads,” the Doctor replied.

Donna lifted her hand and stared, startled. Picking up the bit of metal, she cried, “Just what the hell is this? Think you can cheat me with a phony shilling, Dumbo?”

“Again with the ears!” he snapped back. “Here. Give it over. Let me see that.” The Doctor plucked the coin from her fingers and looked at it. It was a commemorative coin from the coronation of the 207th King of Aldebaran IX. Looking a little sheepish, he quickly put it in his pocket and said, “Sorry. That’s just somethin’ I picked up on my travels.” Handing Donna her cue, he said, “Why don’t you just take the break.”

Donna stood and considered the man before her, with his open, angular face and working-class manner, and realized that she was starting to like him. Quite a lot, actually. Smiling back at him, she took the cue and walked over to the table. Bending down, she pulled her arm back and sent the cue ball smartly into the triangle of balls, scattering them across the felt.

“Watch and learn,” she called out, and moved to the left side of the table to line up her first shot.

Sipping his drink, the Doctor leaned against the bar and watched as the ginger woman sent the first ball neatly in to the corner pocket. She quickly dispatched the next six balls with ease. He smiled to himself. ‘This day wasn’t turnin’ out half bad after all,’ he thought to himself. 

“I think I’ve been had,” he chuckled. “You, my dear, are a hustler.”

She laughed. “Not really. I used to play all the time with my Dad. He and Gramps and I would pop down to the pub to get away from my Mum for a while, when she was on one of her tirades. Got a lot of practise.” She looked away from him, her eyes clouding with an emotion she didn’t want him to see. She turned back to the table.

The Doctor noticed her discomfort and decided to act as if nothing had happened. “So, Donna Noble,” he began, as she looked over the alignment of her next shot. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” she asked absently, moving this way and that at the table.

“Whatever it was you thought I wouldn’t believe.”

Donna stopped in mid-stroke. Turning her head, she stared at him, puzzled. “Are you always this nosy?” she asked, taking a few practice strokes to get a feel for the shot.

“Most times, yeah. Besides,” he grinned. “A good Scotch, a game of pool and a girl with a mystery. How could I resist?”

Setting her cue down on the felt, she walked over and stood right in front of him. She looked him straight in the eye. And was amazed and a little startled at what she saw. Staring into the depths of those icy blue eyes, she found compassion, safety and…. _familiarity_! Something inside her mind recognized him, knew him, but he was a stranger. She stumbled back, shocked. 

The Doctor put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he didn’t want to scare this woman off. “Donna? Are you okay?”

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head to clear it and said, “Yeah. Sorry. Where were we?”

He grinned and said, “I think you were about to tell me your life’s story.”

“You’re really not going to let it go, are you?”

“Nope,” he replied. “I’m really not.”

“Okay. But you have to promise you won’t laugh or tell me I’m bonkers.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, demonstrating exactly that.

She picked up her glass and took a deep swig. Settling herself on one of the barstools, she leaned back and sighed. “Okay, then. You asked for it. Well. In the last four months, I’ve gotten engaged,” she began, ticking each item off on her fingers. “Missed my wedding. Lost my fiancé. Lost my job.” She stopped and blinked suddenly. “Lost my Dad.”

The Doctor immediately, and without conscious thought, put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Donna.”

She held onto him for a moment, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his jumper. Again, she had that slight shiver of recognition, but brushed it away and stepped back. Looking up at him, she said, softly, “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Handing Donna her glass, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Go on. Tell me about the wedding.”

After taking a sip, she began, “Okay. So, here’s the part you’re not going to believe.”

He grinned at her. “Quit stalling.”

She sat up a little straighter and shook her head. “Alright then. So. I was working at this temp job when I met Lance. We dated, and six months later, got engaged. Last year, Christmas Eve, we had this big, beautiful wedding planned. Everyone was there. I was walking down the aisle, hanging on to my Dad’s arm, happy as you please. I was halfway there, _that close_ , when, suddenly, - she paused for effect - I started to glow and then POOF!”

“Poof?”

“Yeah, poof! I was transported.”

“Transported?”

“Oi! Are you gonna repeat everything I say, or are you gonna let me tell it?” she barked at him.

The Doctor put his hands up. “Sorry. Go right ahead.” He took a drink and leaned back.

“As I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted,” she continued with a wink. “I was transported. To this space ship. There was this tall, skinny alien bloke in a pinstripe suit, of all things. And he started peering and scanning and bleeping me, until I smacked him a good one.” (The Doctor grinned to himself at that image – he could well imagine Donna smacking around an alien like it was nothing!) “I made him take me back to my wedding and, when we got there, we found out that they had started the reception without me! They had _my reception_ without me! But, before we could get too far into the party, the Robot Santa scavengers came, tore up the place with exploding decorations, and kidnapped me! The alien chased them down and saved me.” She stood up and started to pace.

“Long story short, the alien bloke figured out that Lance, my good-for-nothing fiancé, had been dosing me for six months with these particles!” (He started to repeat the word but, at a glare from Donna, quickly thought better of it.) “Turns out, _Lance_ had made a deal with this alien spider-woman thing. She needed me and my particles to hatch her babies that she had hibernating at the centre of the Earth. Once they hatched, she was going to let them loose on the world to eat to their heart’s content. I was to be the appetizer! Had to settle for Lance, in the end.”

She took another long drink and continued. “Well, Alien Boy saved me again and destroyed the spider babies by opening up the Thames Flood Barrier and drowning them. The Spider-Woman-Thing went back to her ship and was blown up. So we saved the world, but I lost my job and husband. Alien Boy even made it snow. I think he was trying to cheer me up. He asked me to go travelling with him, but I turned him down.”

She stopped pacing and looked at the Doctor. “The balmy thing is, I’ve regretted that decision from the moment he left. But you know what? I’m going to find him,” she said determinedly. “I’m gonna find the Doctor again and, when I do, I’m gonna beg him to take me with him!”

The Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat. “What did you call him?” he asked slowly.

“The Doctor. Well, that’s what he called _himself_ , the little alien git. How pretentious is that!?”

“Sounds a bit full of himself, that one,” he said. “Donna, I believe you. And I’m sorry about your job and your fiancé. But you know. They say…”

Donna interrupted him and threatened, “If you tell me, ‘When one door closes, another one opens’” she snarled, in a perfect imitation of her mother, “I will smack you right into next Tuesday!”

He laughed out loud at that. “I’m sure you would! No, what I was going to say was this: ‘Every new beginning’s just some other beginning’s end’. Your ‘beginning’ with Lance ended, so here’s to new beginnings.” He picked up his glass and held it up in a toast to her.

Donna took up her glass. “I like that. New beginnings.”

They touched glasses and tossed back the last of their drinks. Putting his empty glass on the bar, the Doctor stood up straight and said, “Sounds like the rain has stopped, and Donny here’s just too polite to throw us the hell out, so I think maybe it’s time we go.” He tossed some notes onto the bar, more than enough to cover their bill.

He picked up Donna’s now-dry coat and helped her into it. Donna smiled at him and said, “Thanks. You’re probably right. Mum’ll have more than a few choice word for me, coming home so late, and with alcohol on my breath.” She laughed. “I’ll just tell her I met a man. That’ll shut her up good and proper. Not half a lie, either.”

They waved goodbye to the barman and stepped outside into the crisp early morning air. The Doctor led her up the street to a more populous part of town. “Come on. Let’s find you a cab. My treat.”

“You don’t have to do that, John. I am perfectly capable of taking the Tube home!” she protested.

“What kind of a brute do you think I am, Donna? A gentleman sees a lady home. Or at least pays for her cab!”

Donna put her arm through his and said, “You are a right fine bloke, you are. Why couldn’t I have met you sooner?” The Doctor pulled her arm against him tightly in response.

They walked a ways and, spotting a cab, the Doctor put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The vehicle pulled up beside them. He opened the door and turned to Donna, to help her in. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Thank you for listening and not making me feel like a fool.”

He smiled. “When you’ve been around as long as I ‘ave, nothin’ surprises ya. Now, go on. Get yourself home.”

“I’m so glad I met you, John Smith-with-a-y. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Donna Noble.”

Donna had just settled in the cab, when he bent down and stuck his head inside. She looked at him expectantly. “Donna,” he said quietly. “Do it. Find your Doctor. And if he gives you any grief, you tell ‘im that John Smith said to stop bein’ a stupid prat!”

She laughed. “I will. I’ll tell him exactly that!” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I hope I see you again sometime, John.”

He squeezed back. “I’m sure you will. I am absolutely certain of it. Have a fantastic life, Donna.” He handed the cabbie a stack of notes and the cab pulled away, Donna waving from the window.

The Doctor just stared at the disappearing cab. Donna’s story swirled in his mind. He knew what it meant. He, in a future incarnation, will meet and save Donna Noble. He also knew that he would have to erase the memory of this night, and the thought of not remembering the feisty ginger saddened him. But he realized it was necessary, since his future self had no recollection of meeting her before. He envied the man, and he hoped he was smart enough to take this amazing woman with him. He hoped he would show her the stars.

He made a mental note to be much more careful in the future about the possibility of crossing his own timeline. It could have devastating effects on the fabric of time and space. He walked down the empty streets to the back alley where the TARDIS was parked. Opening the door, he strode to the console and sent the ship into the Vortex. Then he walked down the hall to his room.

He hung up his leather jacket and pulled off his boots, preparing to have the TARDIS adjust his memories. He sat on the edge of the bed, not quite ready to give up the image of Donna just yet. Staring out at nothing, he took a deep breath and said quietly out loud, “Goodbye, Donna. I really hate doin’ this. Please. Please find me again! I’ve got a feeling that I’m gonna to need your fire in my life.”

The Doctor sighed and lay down in his back. Closing his eyes, he said to his ship, “Alright, old girl. Do what ya gotta do. But be gentle.”

The TARDIS joined his mind and began to sing softly, taking the memory of Donna and the bar and moving them behind a sturdy barrier and creating an alternate memory to fill the void. He had asked her to remove them but she chose to hide them, suspecting that, at some point in the future, he may just want to retrieve them. She sang to him until he fell into a deep, restorative sleep.


	2. Ten

Closing time: Open all the doors and let you out into the world…  
Closing time: Time for your to go out to the places you will be from.  
I know who I want to take me home.  
(“Closing Time” – Semisonic)

__

__

__

“Donna,” the Doctor called out. When there was no immediate response, he called out again, a little more stridently, “Donna!” Still receiving no answer, he shouted urgently, “DON-NA!!!”

Donna Noble emerged from the hallway into the control room, wiping her hands on the tea towel she had been using in the kitchen. The sound of the Doctor’s voice calling out to her like this used to send her into a panic, and she would drop everything and race to him, expecting to see him trapped beneath the console, bleeding from an injury he’d done himself, or grappling with an alien on the TARDIS floor.

She soon learned. 

Usually, it just meant he was bored and wanted her attention. Sometimes, he did need assistance, but generally it was neither life-threatening nor seriously time-sensitive. So, in response to his bellow, Donna merely finished washing up, put the dishes back in the cupboard, and _then_ went to answer the call of the Wild Time Lord.

She found him standing in his shirtsleeves waist high in one of the maintenance bays under the console. He had tools and bits of machinery scattered around him, and was holding a contraption that looked like the offspring of a video game controller and a weather satellite, with a small keyboard attached to it. Wires of various colours were wrapped around him and his sonic screwdriver was held tightly in his teeth. How he managed to call out her name so clearly while his mouth was thusly occupied was a marvel to her.

She walked over to him and said, sweetly, “Did you call me?”

He looked up at her, relieved that she had finally answered his desperate summons. “Donna!” She reached out and removed the sonic from his mouth. “Thank goodness. Yes! I need your help.”

“I assumed that. I actually had that figured out the first two times you called. The third bellow was completely unnecessary.” She squatted down next to him, so that they were at eye level. “What do you need this time?”

The Doctor wasn’t quite sure, but had a sneaking suspicion that he was being patronised. He thought about for a second or two, but then just shook his head and let it go. Twisting around so that he was facing her squarely, he said to her, “I need you to go over to the monitor and read me the initialization sequence.”

Standing up, Donna walked over to the console and peered at the blinking readout. She looked at the screen, and then back at the Doctor. Sitting down on the pilot’s seat, she crossed her arms and said to him, “Sorry. I can’t do that.”

The Doctor was stunned. He stared at his companion, his eyes wide and a little hurt. “Donna?” he asked. “Is something wrong? Are you mad at me again? What did I do this time? Whatever it is, I am really, really sorry.” He implored her. “I need that sequence. If I let go of these wires, I’ll have to rebuild the whole thing. Please?”

Donna let him ramble on a bit. It didn’t do to give in to him too easily. Having him a little off balance sometimes kept things on a more equal footing between the two of them. Besides, she had a very good reason for not supplying him with the information he asked for.

“Doctor,” she began slowly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I am not angry with you. I just can’t do what you want me to, that’s all.”

“But why not? Why won’t you help me?” he pouted.

She walked over to him, bent down and said sweetly, “I didn’t say I _wouldn’t_ give you the information, Sunshine.”

“What? Then, why? What?” he sputtered.

“What I said was, I _can’t_ give it to you. Do you want to know why?” He nodded, really apprehensive by this cool, calm Donna.” “I’ll tell you why. Because it’s in bloody **Gallifreyan!!** _That’s_ why, you prawn!!”she barked at him. “And as pretty as the circles, squiggles, swooshes and dots are, I have no bloody idea what they say!” She swatted his arm with the wet tea towel for good measure.

He looked quite sheepish at this revelation. “Oops,” he said quietly. “I forgot. I think better in Gallifreyan. It’s easier than trying to translate everything into English in my head when I’m doing calculations and the lot.” He looked at her with what he hoped was a sufficiently apologetic expression. “I’m really sorry, Donna. If you press the Atl, Shift, and E keys together, that should run the auto-translation protocol and re-send the information in English.”

She glared at him for a few seconds. But she never could resist what she called the Time Puppy look. So she patted him lightly on the head, walked over to the console and tapped the keys as he had instructed. The screen flashed green and then, gradually, the colour faded and a sequence of letters, numbers and symbols appeared.

“Okay, Doctor,” she said. “Are you ready?”

The Doctor adjusted his hold on the object, holding the wires with one hand and typing with the other, and said, “Go ahead. Read it to me slowly.”

Donna peered at the screen and began, “2. 7. Q. N. 19. 37. 42. Zed.” She stopped and looked over at him. “I can’t make out these last two.”

“What do they look like? Are they numbers or letters?”

“Letters, I think. But not English. One is an capital O with a bar in the middle of it. The other is kind of a wonky E.”

The Doctor laughed. “Those are indeed letters, Donna. Greek alphabet. They’re not part of the sequence, actually.” He frowned.

“They’re not?” she asked. “Then why are they there?”

“Those are the Greek letters Theta and Sigma,” he replied as if that explained everything.

“Well, what do they mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, he was subdued. “That’s my name.”

“What?!” She stared at him, startled.

“Well, not exactly my name. I mean, not my real, Gallifreyan name.” He sighed. “That was the name I used at the Academy.” He frowned again. “I must have ‘signed’ those calculations when I was preparing the sequence. I used to do that back then, to safeguard my work. Cadets were always stealing each other’s homework and taking credit. They were a devious lot,” he said, a troubled, faraway look in his eye.

Donna knew the Doctor well enough by this time to know that this was a subject that he was not at all comfortable talking about. He had a lot of secrets, and lifetimes full of memories and experiences than he could not or would not share. She respected his privacy and just hoped that, some day, their friendship would grow to a point where he no longer felt he had to hide anything from her.

Purposefully changing the subject, she asked, “So. Time Boy. Did you get what you needed? Are you finished with ... What is that thing anyway?”

Climbing out of the hole in the TARDIS floor, he detached the keyboard from the device he held, carefully removing the wires leading from it and disentangling himself. “This, my dear Donna, is a biothermal multiwave resonance inhibitor,” he said proudly.

“Nice,” she said, unimpressed. “What’s it do?”

“Well, the biothermal regulators produce a damping field by manipulating the frequency of the modulator brackets in the …. Donna, you’ve got that face again,” he said, worry colouring his voice.

She looked at him, her lips drawn tightly together. “And just what face might that be?”

Taking a step away from her, he answered, “The one that tells me that I’m babbling on and if I don’t get to the point, you’re going to smack me again. And by the way, that tea towel hurt!” He rubbed his upper arm for emphasis.

Donna couldn’t help but laugh at his pained expression. Walking over to him, she put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, Doctor. So, what’s this biothermal multiwhatsits for?”

He grinned back at her. He never could stay mad at his Donna for long. Taking her hand and leading her over to the console, he swung the monitor around. “Hold this,” he said, handing her the inhibitor. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his long fingers flew over the keyboard. After a few seconds, he shouted, “Aha! There ! You see?” 

Donna looked at the monitor and then at the Doctor. “What are those?” she asked. “They kinda look like the Cornish pixies from that Harry Potter movie!”

“Chamber of Secrets! Yeah! Oh, I _loved_ Gilderoy Lockhart. He was such a balmy git. You know, I’ve often thought that old J. K. might have been bit more familiar with alien life forms than she let on.” Donna just stared at him, her fingers tapping impatiently on the console. 

“Right. Anyway,” he continued, looking back at the monitor. “Those are actually a species called the Ondouri. Their home planet of Ondo is in the Ring Nebula in the constellation of Lyra. The Ondouri are generally a peaceful species but they have one rather dangerous and distasteful trait.” He pointed to the image on the screen. “See there? What looks like little pinpoints on their necks?”

Donna strained her eyes, peering at the monitor. “I think so. What are they?”

“Salivary glands. Twelve of them.”

“So?”

“Well,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck, as he did when he was wasn’t sure what to say. “The Ondo, um, well, secrete a thick gelatinous, um, substance through these, er, glands, that, well…”

“Oh, just spit it out!” she cried, exasperated.

“Exactly! Only, their chemistry is such that the fluid is highly corrosive.”

Donna glared at him and was about to smack him for talking balmy again, when what he said fully registered, and she started to laugh. “Spit? You’re telling me they have acid spit?!”

“Yep,” he replied, popping the “p”. It’ll eat through most any organic matter. So you can see how truly dangerous it could be to a populated planet. Not to mention, disgusting.”

“And we’re worried about them, why?”

“Well,” he said. “The TARDIS noticed an Ondouri spacecraft a few days ago and I have been monitoring them, hoping they were just taking a joyride through the galaxy.” He shook his head. “Nothing’s ever that easy. Earlier, I plotted their trajectory and realized….”

“They’re headed for Earth,” Donna finished his thought for him.

He grinned at her. “Got it in one. London, in fact.”

“What are they doing here?”

“I’m not really sure. I’ve sent a signal to the Ondouri High Council.”

“So? What’re you waiting for? Get us back to Earth and let’s get those little blighters! Nobody spits acid on my planet!”

“Oh, Donna!” he exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “You are brilliant, you are!” He spun dials and flipped switches, and instructed her on which levers to pull, and they were soon on their way. In no time, the TARDIS made its usual grinding noises and they landed, on a back street somewhere in London.

Putting on his suit jacket, the Doctor shoved various items in his deceptively spacious pockets. Donna held the inhibitor and ran her finger over its buttons, lost in thought. Noticing how quiet she was, he picked up his long brown coat and walked over to her.

“Donna?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

She just kept looking at the device in her hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just thinking.” She handed him the inhibitor and they walked over to the door. Stopping him before he could open it, she put her hand on his arm and said, “Doctor, I think it’s time you teach me Gallifreyan.”

This caught him completely off guard. “Donna,” he began slowly, “what brought this on?”

“I just think I ought to know.”

He sighed. “I’ve told you. It’s almost impossible for humans to learn.”

“ ‘The human larynx isn’t built for some Gallifreyan inflections’. Yes, I know all that. But can you at least teach me to _read_ it? Even if I can’t speak it well, or at all, at least I could be more helpful with your work. Not to mention, being able to read the bloody labels in the med-bay. Need I remind you of the iodine incident?”

The Doctor shuddered. “I see your point. And actually, that really is a good idea.” The room was suddenly filled with a beautiful melody. He grinned. “Looks like the old girl agrees with you.” He stroked the console lightly. “Okay, once we get these pesky Ondouri sorted, we’ll start your lessons.” Handing Donna a butterfly net, he threw open the TARDIS doors, grabbed her hand and shouted, “Allons-y!”

Later that night, the two were running down an alley in pursuit of the remaining two Ondouri. The Doctor held the butterfly net out in front of him like a lance, and the pack on his back was full of squirming lumps. Donna gripped the inhibitor with both hands and shouted at him, “I really think you ought to be doing this!”

He called back to her over his shoulder, “You’re doing fine. Just hold it steady. I think I have them cornered over behind that rubbish bin. Which way is the biothermal grid pointing?”

Holding out the device, she answered, “About a half a metre to your left. Wait. It’s moving. Back to the right. Blimey, this thing is bouncing back and forth.”

“I was afraid of that,” the Doctor grumbled. “I think they’ve split up. Okay, here’s what we’re going to have to do. You stand over at the right side of the bin and I’ll flush one of them out. When I do, you use the inhibitor. Press the red button as quickly as you can. Hopefully, that’ll slow down its forward motion long enough for you to grab it and hold it. I’ll try to catch the other one in the net. Oh, and here,” he said, rummaging around in his coat pocket and producing a heavy chain mail glove. “Can’t have you getting spit on, now can we?” He grinned at her.

Donna snatched the glove out of his hand and put it on, balancing the inhibitor in the other hand. The Doctor approached the bin and began to sweep the net behind, under and around the container. Skittering noises could be heard along with a guttural muttering.

Suddenly, from the right side of the bin, a creature about a metre tall came darting out and scuttling along the alley wall. The Doctor raced to the left side of the bin and shouted at Donna, “The red button! Point at it and hit the red button!”

Her hands shaking a bit, she did as she was instructed. The creature’s movement slowed almost to a crawl, and she reached out with the gloved hand and caught it by the scruff of its neck, not unlike the way one catches a kitten. The Doctor, meanwhile, had cornered the other Ondouri and was trying to scoop it up with his net, but without much success. 

“Blimey, this bugger’s quick!” he exclaimed, and he danced from side to side. 

Donna walked over, still holding the now squealing Ondouri, and stood behind the Doctor. As soon as the creature ventured out in the open, she pressed the red button firmly, immediately arresting its escape. The Doctor’s head whipped around, saw Donna with the inhibitor, and grinned from ear to ear. 

He ran over and grabbed the creature. Taking the pack from his back, he stuffed the semi-immobile Ondouri inside, and motioned to her to do the same. When all of the creatures were secured in the pack, Donna handed him back the device and the glove, and leaned against the alley wall.

“So, now what?” she asked. “What do we do with them?”

The Doctor put the pack down and reached again into his voluminous coat pocket. Pulling out a small disc, he looked over at Donna and explained, “I’ve already contacted the Ondouri High Council. Turns out I was right. These little guys are just a group of rebellious teenagers riding around in a “borrowed” shuttle! The Council was very apologetic and assured me that they would be by very shortly to pick them up. This,” he said, holding up the disc, “is a homing beacon programmed for the teleportation device on the Ondouri ship. They’ll be able to transport the blighters, pack and all, from space. I told them to come in around 3 am Earth time. Attract less attention that way.”

He attached the disc to the outside of the pack and walked back to the bin, shoving the pack behind it. “Oi!” Donna exclaimed. “You can’t just leave them there. What’s to stop someone from just nicking the bag?”

“Ah,” the Doctor said, with a grin. “Built in perception filter. Won’t even notice it’s there. Now, come on. We’ve done a good bit of work tonight. Should be proud of ourselves.” He looked up at the sky, which had become increasingly overcast as the evening progressed. “I don’t like the look of those clouds. Better head back to the TARDIS.”

They walked out of the alley and down another side street. Suddenly, the Doctor stopped, raised his head, and looked around manically. “Do you smell that?” he asked.

“What?” she sighed. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Superior Time Lord olfactory receptors,” he replied, touching the side of his nose. 

“Crikey. I just want to go home. Is it more aliens?”

He sniffed again. “No. Chips! I smell **chips!** ” He giggled and turned to her. “I’m hungry! Are you hungry? Chasing aliens is hungry work, don’t you agree? I’d _really_ like some chips!” 

Donna couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud. He really was such a child sometimes. “Sure,” she replied. “Why not?”

His face broke out in the widest grin and he threw his arm across her shoulder, pulling her to him. “That’s what I like about you, Donna Noble. You understand priorities.”

At that moment, the first raindrops began to fall. Hand in hand, they hurried down the street, guided by the Doctor’s superior receptors, and turned onto another, smaller side street. The rain began to fall in earnest. Dragging Donna with him, he raced down the street and threw open the door of a small pub. Laughing, they shook the water from their hair and looked around.

It wasn’t very crowded, so the Doctor motioned to Donna to go sit at one of the open booths, while he went to the bar to place their order. She took off her jacket and hung it over the back of the booth. A few minutes later, the Doctor returned, a pint of brown ale in one hand and a frothy, fruity concoction in the other. Setting the glasses down, he took off his coat and slide into the booth across from her.

“Can you believe it?” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “They make banana daiquiris! A tiny place like this!” Donna reached out and picked up the pint, watching with amusement as the Doctor raised the other glass to his lips and sipped. The look on his face was priceless, his eyes closed, his lips turned up in a euphoric grin. Donna stifled the urge to laugh and took a sip of her ale.

He put his glass down carefully, as if it were a precious object. Donna,” he said solemnly. “That is, without a doubt, the most amazing thing I have ever tasted. You have to try one.”

“I’ll just stick to good old-fashioned ale, thank you very much. Never been much for drinks with fruit in them.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing. Did you know? I invented the banana daiquiri in the 18th Century! At a party with Madame de Pompadour,” he said proudly, continuing to sip his drink.

“Of course you did,” Donna replied, clearly humouring him. At that moment, the barman came over with a large plate of chips. Donna looked up as he set them down on the table, and stared. “You’re....Donny, right?”

The barman looked over at her and smiled. “Hiya, Miss. Good to see ya again.”

“You too,” she said, smiling.

“I haven’t seen John here in a long while. You?”

“No, not since that night.”

“Well, if ya do, tell ‘im the old gang was askin’ about ‘im.”

“I will,” she promised.

The barman went back to the bar and Donna took a long sip of her ale, her brow knotted.

The Doctor looked at her closely. “Is something wrong?” he asked, reaching out and placing his hand on hers.

The touch of his hand brought her back to the present and out of her thoughts. She squeezed his hand and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I just ... well, I’ve been here before.”

“Really? Here? When?” he asked, interested and a little concerned.

Donna pulled her hand back and picked up a chip. “Oh, it was not too long after I first met you. You know, the wedding?” She bit into the chip and chewed a few seconds. “It’s funny. It was raining that night too,” she said thoughtfully.

Helping himself, he said, between bites, “How did you end up in here? Doesn’t seem like the kind of place you’d go to.”

“Oh, it wasn’t intentional. I got lost coming back from a job interview. The weather was beastly, so I just popped into the closest open door.” She ate another chip and continued. “I met the most interesting bloke that night. He bought me some really good Scotch and I beat him at pool. Ended up telling him all about Lance and the Racnoss, and getting kidnapped, and the particles.”

The Doctor almost choked on his daiquiri. Taking a deep breath, he said quietly, “You told a total stranger about the Racnoss? Donna, what were you thinking? What did he say?”

“Oh, don’t get all Time Lord huffy at me,” she snapped. “It was perfectly fine. I told him about you too. How you saved me and destroyed the Empress.” She sipped some more of her ale.

The Doctor, at this point, was practically apoplectic. “You told him about _me_?”

She stared at him like he had grown a second head. “What are you going on about? John would never say anything. He was nice to me. Said he believed me, and didn’t make me feel like I was a nutter. When I told him how daft I’d been, not coming with you the first time, he told me to find you and make you take me back.” She laughed at the memory. “He said, if you gave me any grief, I was to tell you that John Smith said to stop being a stupid prat! Luckily, I didn’t have to; you let me come all on your own.” She took his hand back and rubbed her thumb across his knuckles.

Something in Donna’s story struck a chord with the Doctor. Slowly putting down the chips in his hand, he sat back and breathed deeply. “Tell me about this John Smith,” he asked.

Donna stared at him, intending to make a crack about nosy spacemen, but his expression stopped that thought in its tracks. “Well,” she began. “He was tall, about your height. Not so skinny,” she smirked. “Let’s see. He had really nice blue eyes, but the biggest ears I’ve seen. He said he was a troubleshooter. Oh, and he sounded like he was from the North somewhere. A working class kinda bloke. Had this great leather jacket.”

She watched the Doctor’s reaction, and was becoming uneasy at his silence. “Doctor? I know this is going to sound balmy, but there was something in his eyes. I just felt that I could trust him. That it was safe to tell him.” She turned away from him and said, very quietly, looking down at her hands, “His eyes. They reminded me of you.”

Seeing how upset Donna was becoming, the Doctor shook himself mentally and decided to let it go for the moment. Picking up his chips again, he smiled at her and said, “Sounds like a fine chap. Doesn’t seem to have caused any disturbance in the time-space continuum. Just, be careful who you pick up in a pub next time!” 

He ducked as Donna threw a chip at his head, and missed. The awkward moment passed, and they sat in the booth eating chips, drinking their drinks, and talking about nothing important, until the barman announced “last call”. They walked out of the pub and the Doctor noticed, for the first time, the sign. Something stirred in his memory but he put it aside for later.

Walking arm in arm back to the TARDIS, he unlocked the door and they entered the control room. By habit, Donna ran her hand over one of the coral struts in a gesture of greeting. The ship crooned her “welcome home” to the pair. Throwing his coat in its usual place, the Doctor went over to the console and set about putting the ship into the Vortex to drift for a while.

Donna walked over to the Doctor and, putting her hand on his arm, said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run my mouth like that. I’m so stupid sometimes..” 

He pulled her into a tight hug and said, “No, you’re not. You’re brilliant. How many times to I have to say that? Besides, you have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have questioned your judgment. Good work today, by the way,” he praised her, because she deserved it, but also to divert them from the former train of thought.

Donna blushed at his words and hugged him back. “Thank you.” She stepped out of his arms and sighed. “Crikey, but I am knackered. I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Doctor.”

“Sweet dreams, Donna.”

As soon as he was sure she was out of voice range, he turned back to the console and demanded, “Okay. What do you know about Donna meeting a John Smith?” The ship responded with an indistinct sound. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. I _know_ you keep excellent records. I want to know.”

He paced around the control room. “Why didn’t I remember meeting her before? I _definitely_ would have remembered ‘The Weeping Angel’! Think. Think!” he growled, pounding the heel of his hands on his forehead. The TARDIS sang a soft melody. The Doctor looked up, startled. 

“Of course,” he said softly. “He knew I shouldn’t remember meeting her. He had you erase the memory. Smart man.” The ship sang again. “No, I’m sure he didn’t want to. Who would? Losing the memory of our Donna? A tragedy for sure. And to do it voluntarily? I’m not sure I could.” He felt a pang of sorrow for the man he used to be.

A third time the TARDIS sang to the Doctor. He stopped pacing and gaped. Putting his hand on a strut, he smiled and cried, “You did _what?_ You brilliant, brilliant girl!” He kissed the coral. She crooned again softly. His eyes misted and he whispered, “Yes. Of course I want it!” He ran to his bedroom and threw himself on the bed. Smiling at the ceiling, awash with the stars of Gallifrey, he murmured to his ship, “Go on, old girl. Bring her back to me.” 

He closed his eyes, and the TARDIS sang, returning the memory of Donna to her Doctor.


	3. Eleven

Closing time: One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer.  
Closing time: You don't have to go home but you can't stay here.  
(“Closing Time” – Semisonic) 

Donna Noble sat at her desk, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, a stack of invoices and billing statements at her right elbow. She was looking over the figures for the previous quarter, and making notes on a large lined pad. She tapped her pen on the desk as she pondered the information she was gathering. She couldn’t quite believe her initial conclusions. How had things progressed so quickly? 

Her life these past few years had been unsettled, to say the least. She had been in some sort of accident that left her with partial memory loss. No one would talk to her about it, and the doctor’s could never figure out what exactly had caused it. Eventually, the ever practical Donna put it all aside and moved on. She met and married Sean Temple. He was a sweet man and they tried very hard to make the marriage work. In the end, they both agreed. Something was just not right. They loved each other, but love was not enough in this case. He felt as if she was settling for him; she felt she was missing something important but didn’t know what it was. 

Donna absently rubbed the empty place on her finger where wedding her ring had been. She never wore anything there anymore. It just didn’t feel comfortable. 

After the divorce, she couldn’t bring herself to do much. The money from the Lottery win certainly made it easier, even after settling with Sean. But she was restless. She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do, but she knew it wasn’t sitting around her flat alone. So she went back to temping, much to her mother’s dismay. It was something she was good at, and she thought she was making a difference. That was important to her now, being useful. 

After a few months, though, she realized she was dissatisfied with the way temps were treated, either by the agency that managed them, or the people who employed them. One evening, when she was “up the hill” with her grandfather Wilf, she complained bitterly about one old hen running the agency through which she was currently working. 

“It’s like she’s got custard for brains, Gramps!” Donna exclaimed. “I had to show her, for the tenth time, how to work the photocopier! And _she’s_ the bloody office manager!” She took a sip from Wilf’s thermos of coffee. “I could do a better job of running that agency with one hand tied behind my back and in my sleep!” 

Wilf looked at his granddaughter with great affection, and a little sadness. He knew she was feeling a little lost, what with the missing memories and the divorce, and all. He wished he could help her remember, but that just wasn’t possible. Instead, he tried to encourage her in any way he was able. “Then why don’tcha, sweet’eart?” he asked. 

“Why don’t I what?” she asked, absently, gazing up at the stars. 

“Why don’tcha run the place? Or a place.” He turned to face her. “You know, you’ve been driftin’ along and you’re better’n that. You’ve got all that money. Why keep workin’ for someone else? Why not get people to work for you?” 

Donna started at her grandfather for a long while. “Gramps,’” she finally said. “I can’t do that. I’m not smart enough for one. Who would ever imagine me in charge of anything?” 

Wilf sighed. He knew exactly who, but he couldn’t tell her. He patted her shoulder and said, “Just give it some thought, that’s all I’m sayin’. Do it for me.” 

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re sweet. Daft, but sweet.” She got up and made her way back to her mother’s flat. 

But as the weeks went by, the small kernel of an idea that Wilf had planted began to grow, and Donna began to think seriously about the possibility of starting her own temp agency. She knew her mother would scoff at the very notion of Donna doing something so bold, so she decided to keep it all to herself, not even telling her grandfather. 

She started to look into what it would take to open a business. She gathered information on office space, insurance, advertising. She was amazed to discover that she had a knack for this kind of organisation, something that she never had before the accident. Over the course of a few months, she contacted estate agents, advertising agencies, printers, even a solicitor! When she was ready, she talked with some of her fellow temps and convinced a couple of them to join her when launched her endeavour. 

That was over a year ago. “Timely Temps” had grown from two girls and Donna in a one room shop to over twenty employees in a three room suite on Oxford Street. They offered, not just secretaries, but general office, bookkeeping, and even some limited technology services. Donna no longer went out on jobs herself; she took the orders, scheduled the temps, handled the finances, and, well, ran the business. She surprised herself sometimes. She has certainly surprised her Mum! 

As she looked down again at the figures she had tabulated, she asked herself again why she hadn’t hired an accountant as of yet. Sitting back in her chair, she smiled. It was probably because she was secretly proud of herself. She had always been good at maths, but never thought she had the capacity for long-range budgeting and cost projections and the like. She was finding, every day, some new aspect of herself that she never realized existed. 

Putting down her pen, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She glanced at the clock on her wall, a small smile creeping across her face. It was a curious thing she had found in a small second-hand shop. It was an unusual shade of blue, and had a starfield design on the clock face, with the hour hand a gold sun and the second hand a silver moon. There was even a bell that chimed on the hour. It was like nothing she had ever owned before, but as soon as she saw it, she had to have it. It was comforting to her in an odd sort of way. She had learned not to think too hard about these feelings. It just made her head hurt. 

The clock struck the hour of nine, startling Donna out of her thoughts. Crikey, she thought. How had it gotten that late? She sighed and began to straighten up her desk, readying it for the next day’s work. She backed up her spreadsheets and closed down her computer. Getting up from the desk, she pushed her chair in, and dropped her keys and wallet into her blazer pocket. 

She walked out of her office, closing and locking the door. Walking through the work area, she was again amazed at how her little business had grown. Who’d have thought it? She asked herself. She dimmed the lights and set the security alarm, then headed for the lifts. Reaching the ground floor, she made her way across the lobby, and stepped out into the night. 

It was a typical dreary London night, cool and damp, with a threat of rain in the air. Usually, when she stayed at work this late, she would take a cab, but she wasn’t quite ready to go home to her empty flat. She thought that she’d walk for a bit and then maybe take the Tube. Her mind was filled with projections and plans, and she hoped that a quiet stroll would help her sort out what she needed to do next. 

A while later, she was abruptly roused from her thoughts, when fat, heavy raindrops splattered on her head and shoulders. “Bloody hell,” she exclaimed , and looked around her, trying to determine where exactly she was, and how far it was to the nearest Tube station. She quickly realized that she had wandered far afield, and was in a part of town she normally did not frequent. Turning down a side street she hoped would lead her to a major thoroughfare, she was dismayed to discover that exactly the opposite was the case. 

The rain began to fall harder. Looking up and down the street, she spotted a small pub with its lights on. Throwing the door open, she dashed inside to escape the worst of the weather. Walking over to the bar, she sat down on a stool. The barman, a young man in his early twenties, came over quickly and handed her a towel. 

“Welcome ta The Weepin’ Angel,” he said in a strong Irish brogue. “Not a fit night out for man nor beast,” he said. “Name’s Liam. What can I get for the fair lady?” 

Donna chuckled in spite of herself, as she blotted her hair. “Well, aren’t you just full of the blarney?” she asked, in a fair imitation of his brogue. Liam smiled at her. She smiled back. “How about,” she thought for a moment, “Scotch. Something good. Maybe a single malt.” 

“Got just the thing for ya,” Liam replied. He turned and reached up and took a dusty bottle from an upper shelf. He came back over to Donna, placed a glass in front of her, and poured her a generous portion from the bottle in his hand. “Don’t get much call for this,” he told her, “but I guarantee you’ll love it.” She picked up the glass and took a sip. 

Looking up at the barman, she beamed at him and asked, “What _is_ this nectar of the gods?” 

Liam grinned at her and answered, “Glenfiddich, 30 year old.” 

“Oh, my god. This Scotch is older than _you_ are!” she exclaimed. Peering at his freckled baby face, she asked, “Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” 

“Oh, I’m just fillin’ in for my cousin Donny. He runs this place, usually. But he’s off on his honeymoon, and I came down ta help out for the week. Figgered I could meet some lovelies.” He winked at her and said, ‘Looks like I figgered right!” 

Donna swatted at him with the towel and laughed. “Flatterer. Now go on with you.” 

Two regulars down at the end of the bar called over to Liam to refill their pints. He laughed and winked at Donna again, and made his way to the other end of the bar. She turned and sipped her excellent Scotch, and watch a couple of young men playing pool. 

She sat and observed them for a couple of games, resisting the urge to join them and show them exactly how to play the game properly, She finally turned back to the bar and her own thoughts. Suddenly, the door to the pub blew open and a young man staggered in, along with copious amounts of rain and cold wind. Donna shivered and turned to look at the newcomer, but returned immediately to her drink. The young man exchanged words with Liam, but she took little notice of it. 

A few minutes later, she was trying to make up her mind whether to brave the weather or have another drink, when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice, loudly asking, “Care for a fish finger?” She looked up and saw the young man who had recently entered. He was sitting two stool down the bar, grinning at her and holding up a piece of breaded haddock. 

At first, she wasn’t sure he was talking to her, but soon realized there was no one else in the pub but her, Liam and the young man. He looked at her expectantly. She realized she had to respond in some way, so she asked, bluntly, “Do I know you?” 

“Do you have to know someone to eat fish fingers?” he replied. 

“It’s usually the case, yeah,” she shot back. 

“Ah,” he retorted. “But we’re anything but usual, aren’t we?” 

Donna didn’t know what to make of this strange young man. “Are you always this rude?” she enquired. 

“Are you always this defensive?” he asked back. Then he started laughing. “Is this banter? Oh, I _love_ banter!” Putting down the fish finger, he walked over to her and stuck out his hand. “John Smith.” 

Donna stared at him and shook her head. “You’re kidding me, right? John Smith? Who uses that anymore?” 

He looked a crestfallen. “Well,” he began. “ _I_ do. Would it make a difference if I said I spelled it with a ‘y’ and an ‘e’?” 

There was something rather endearing about this odd person. He seemed actually quite sweet. Taking his hand, she shook it and said, “Donna Noble. Pleased to meet you, John Smith-with-a-y.” For a second, she was struck by a faint sense of _déjà vu_. It disappeared quickly, and she dismissed it. 

Picking up his plate, the Doctor said again, “Well, now that we know each other, would you care for a fish finger? I usually have them with custard, but I’m trying something daring tonight. Devonshire cream. It was either that or lemon curd, but the cream won out!” 

Donna stared at him and wondered where exactly he had blown in from. She was about to make a snide remark, asking just that, when her stomach growled and she realized that she had gone without lunch or supper again. Laughing at herself, she looked at him and, seeing the knowing smirk on his face, said, “Don’t mind if I do, John.” She picked up a fish finger and stared indecisively at the cup of Devonshire cream. 

The Doctor gently pushed the cup toward her. “Go on,” he said. “You know you want to. Take a chance. Be mad! Life is an adventure! Geronimo!” This last was said as he twirled around on the balls of his feet. 

She held the crispy morsel between her fingers and debated the wisdom of combining deep fried fish and clotted cream, but the look of expectation on the Doctor’s face convinced her. “Oh, why not?” She gave in and dipped it into the cup. Raising the fish to her lips, she hesitated and then took a small bite. 

The Doctor watched as Donna chewed carefully. He detected the small smile she was trying to hide from him. So when she nodded and said, “Not bad,” he cackled with glee and threw an arm over her shoulder. 

“See?” he said, conspiratorially. “What did I tell you? I say, eat one unusual thing every day. Life will never be boring.” 

Donna had never seen anyone with so much energy, and she just had to laugh. After he had settled himself again on the stool next to her, she picked up another fish finger and, pointing it at him, she laughed and said, “Who are you? And more importantly, what the hell have you got on your head?” 

The Doctor reached up and touched the object sitting on his head. “It’s a deerstalker,” he said, proudly. “I wear a deerstalker. Deerstalkers are cool.” 

“No, they’re really not,” she countered. “Makes you look like a demented Sherlock Holmes.” She proceeded to dip the fish finger into the cream and took another bite. “And who dressed you this morning? I mean really? A bow tie? Braces and a tweed jacket.” She grabbed at this sleeve. “Oh. My. God. Are those _elbow patches_?!” She looked up at him in amazement. “What are you? A bloody philosophy professor?” 

The Doctor grinned at her. “No, I’m an….archaeologist.” he said. His brow creased. “No. Wait. I point and laugh at archaeologists. I’m an astronaut!” 

Donna laughed at him. “You’re a nutter, is what you are. But you’re a cute nutter, and you bought me fish fingers. Besides, I think you’re just having me on. So, tell me, John. What are you doing here on a Friday night in a tiny pub? You’re a nice looking bloke. You should be out with your girl or your mates or something, not chatting up an old lady like me.” She finished off another piece of fish. 

“Interesting word, ‘mate’,” he said excitedly. “It means all manner of things.” He bounced off the stool and paced, gesticulating with his expressive hands. “As a noun, it can mean a friend, a comrade. A _companion_ ,” he stated with a sly grin. “When it’s a verb, it means something entirely different. You don’t really ‘mate’ with a mate.” He stopped pacing suddenly. “Well, I supposed you could.” 

He looked at her with a wistful expression. She noticed his sudden change from manic to solemn. “John?” she asked, putting her hand on his sleeve lightly. 

He sighed and replied, “I knew someone like that once. She was my best mate, the most brilliant woman you ever saw.” His eyes dropped away from her face. “I was never brave enough to tell her how I felt.” He looked up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “She’s gone now. I lost her.” 

Donna stood up and put her arms around the Doctor, drawing him into a fierce hug. “It’s alright, sunshine,” she said, softly patting his back. The Doctor held her tighter at the sound of the familiar name. “I’m sure, no matter where she is, she’s never forgotten you. You are rather unforgettable.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered. They slowly stepped apart and he turned away, blinking rapidly to dispel the moisture in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he whirled around and grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “So,” he said, drawing out the vowel. “What about you? What makes Donna Noble tick?” 

She picked up her forgotten drink and took a long sip. “Me?” she scoffed. “What do you want to know about me for? I’m nothing special.”

“Oh, I would beg to differ,” the Doctor replied. “I think you are very special, probably more special than you realize. You’re kind to strangers,” he said, bowing for dramatic effect. “You’re brave and daring,” he motioned toward the nearly empty plate. “And you’re very, very smart.” 

“How do you figure that?” she scoffed. 

“Well, you run your own business, don’t you?” When Donna looked at him in utter astonishment, he reached over and pulled out the brochure from her blazer pocket. “Timely Temps. That’s yours, right? Catchy name, by the way.” 

She took the brochure form his hand and said, “It came to me one night. It just felt right, you know? Anyway, yeah. It’s my little business. We’re doing okay. I’ve got a lovely bunch of people working for me, and I think we’re making a difference.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” He looked down at her for a moment and then said quietly, “Are you happy, Donna?” 

She was taken aback. Nobody ever asked her that. They always wanted to know if she was alright, but never if she was happy. She thought for a minute before she answered him. “Am I happy? You know, I don’t know that I ever really think about it. Am I happy? Well, I have good job. A business that seems to be doing well. A nice flat. Gramps and my Mum. I’m content, I suppose. Isn’t that enough?” 

She turned toward him and looked him in the eye, really looked, for the first time. And what she saw there comforted and warmed her. She stared, searching his eyes for something, but didn’t know exactly what. There was a hint of familiarity, but it was so fleeting and so indistinct that she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. She felt a tear slide down her face, and she wasn’t sure why. 

The Doctor just stood and waited, as she scanned his face. He was a little tense, afraid of the consequences of the prolonged exposure to his presence. Finally, he reached up and ran his finger over her cheek, catching the teardrop. 

“Who are you, John?” she asked. 

“Just a stranger you met on a lonely night. Nothing more,” he replied with a sad smile. 

At that moment, Liam walked up to them and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, miss, but I’m gonna have to be closin’ up now.” 

The two stepped back and thanked the barman for his trouble, and Donna left a hefty tip on the bar. The Doctor opened the pub door and escorted her out into the night. As they began to walk, without thinking, he put out his hand, and she automatically grasped it. They walked down the street, hands clasped, each locked in their own thoughts, and turned the corner. They continued on until they reached a well lit street she recognized. A Tube station was at the end of the block. 

She stopped and, letting go of his hand a little self-consciously, turned to him. “John,” she said. “I’ll be fine from here. Thanks for the fish fingers. And the company. You are a strange little man, and I am so glad you blew in tonight.” 

The Doctor, feeling a little bereft at the loss of her hand, smiled a little sadly and said, “Who knew an atmospheric excitation would lead to this, eh?” He looked down at her intently and asked, “Donna? Would you mind? I think I would like to kiss you now. Is that alright?” 

Donna stared at him and realized that he was nervous. Very nervous. On another night, in another circumstance, she probably would have either laughed in his face or smacked him into next week. But there was something so endearing, so precious, so _wretched_ in his eyes. At that moment, she was sure he was thinking about the girl he lost, and her heart skipped a beat. She reached up and put both hands on his shoulders. 

Seeing her tilt her face up to his, relief washed over him, and he bent down. He brushed his lips lightly against hers, before pressing them more firmly together. It was the oddest of kisses, Donna would remember. It was sweet and yet held a touch of desperate longing that she didn’t understand. All she knew was that it felt right in a way she had never experienced before. 

The kiss didn’t last very long, and the Doctor broke away a little awkwardly. “Thank you,” was all he said. 

Donna put her hand on his cheek and smiled. “Any time, spaceman.” Then she turned and began walking down the street. Suddenly, she stopped, ran back, snatched the hat from the Doctor’s head, and chucked it into a nearby bin. She giggled and waved, and then continued on her way to the station. 

It wasn’t until she reached for her keys, as she stood at the door of her flat, that she found it. In her pocket was a small card, larger than a business card but not quite the size of an index card. On one side these words were written in a frenetic scribble: 

> _Donna,_
> 
> _Thank you for everything._
> 
> __
> 
> _Have a fantastic life._  
>  _Don’t forget: You are brilliant!  
>  Be daring! Geronimo! _
> 
> _With much affection,  
>  John Smythe || >*<||_

__  


Turning the card over, Donna gasped. On the other side was the most beautiful design, consisting of circles, squiggles, swooshes and dots, in a line and overlapping. She had no idea what it was, but she knew instinctively that it was something very important to the young man she had met that night, and that it struck a chord deep inside her. Oddly, she realized that she had no desire to try to understand its meaning. She just knew that she would keep this card close to her forever.

The Doctor watched her until she disappeared down the stairs to the Underground. He sighed, thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, and slowly walked away. Making his way back to the TARDIS, his steps were halting, his hearts aching. He slowly unlocked the door and walked into the control room. 

His ship sang a soft tune and he put his hand on the console. “Yes, I’m back. And no, I don’t feel any better, thanks for asking,” he snapped. She trilled out another string of notes. He whirled around, his arms fluttering. “Oh, that’s just charming. My own ship telling me , ‘I told you so.’ Rather childish, don’t you think?” He stomped around the console and angrily manipulated the controls, and they began to drift silently in the Vortex. 

Suddenly very tired, the Doctor slowly walked down the hall and entered his bedroom, a place in which he spent precious little time. He tossed his tweed jacket carelessly over the desk chair, loosened his tie, and eased the braces off of his shoulders. Lying down on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, watching as the Gallifreyan night sky shifted and churned. Gradually it settled, and he smiled as he recognized the stars that shone above Chiswick. He sighed deeply. “She’ll be okay,” he said out loud, a catch in his voice. “She has to be okay.” 

The TARDIS crooned softly. He smiled. “I know she is. Brilliant and brave. The most important woman in the whole, wide universe. We’ll take care of her, the two of us. We’ll take care of our Donna.” 

The ship sang a low mournful tone. His eyes misted and he blinked to clear them. “I had to. I really did. I never got the chance before. No one else had ever been important enough. I needed _her_ to know my name.” The tone was repeated, a little more forcefully. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not a problem, anyway,” he cried. “She’s forgotten how to read it, along with everything else!” The melody grew louder, more strident. “Yes, yes, you’re right. I know! It _was_ foolish and dangerous.” He sat up suddenly. “But you know what? That’s who I am. Foolish. And. Dangerous!” he shouted. 

The room was filled with a strong, almost accusatory, melody, with just a hint of Cloister Bell thrown in for good measure. The Doctor lay back down, chastised. “Sorry, old girl. I promise. Never again. But I know you miss her too. We can at least watch out for her, can’t we? Make sure she really is happy?” His ship trilled in response, and he smiled sadly. 

He remained there for a while in silence, watching the stars and thinking. Finally, in a voice so quiet the ship had trouble making out the words, he prayed, “Please. Please don’t let me forget her. Ever.” 

He closed his eyes, and his mind was filled with images, scents, and sounds of Donna Noble, and the TARDIS promised that they would stay forever linked to the best friend and dearest love they both had ever had. 


End file.
